BYH "Found" Department

It was on the last day of school one year;
Leaving our top-floor journalism room,
I was the last one out.




































Eager as I was to get the summer started,
I was a little reluctant to close the door,
To leave this lofty place.




































This was the place where we scribbled and edited,
Where ideas were transmogrified into printed words:
Typo Heaven!




































Next to the door sat an overloaded trash can;
Atop the heap sat a small torn cardboard box
Holding just one item.




































Id have passed it by without a second thought,
But it was intriguing, like a spiral seashell,
Like a paper slinky.




































It might have been a roll of postage stamps;
It slithered like a snake in the box;
It caught my eye.



































When I picked it up I saw in my hand a days work,
The harvest from a lineup of mixed-up subjects
Of our school photographer.




































Now why would someone throw this in the trash?
And yet, why would anyone save it from the trash?
What would be the point?




































So I stood thinking and quickly realized --
I can't be complicit in sending this human coil
To a landfill oblivion!




































These many faces I have not seen for so long
Always appear to be looking forward to a next class,
A next game, a next break --
Next!




































It has rolled around in my memento box for decades,
Waiting for the right moment to share it
Before I forget.




































And now I am becoming more absent minded,
I have "sometimers" -- I hold fast to the past,
But try to live in the present.




































School life is filled with potential souvenirs:
A shard of glass from a shocking encounter,
A book unreturnable to a library now gone,
Y'ld Cat articles written by friends,
A penalty essay saved as a treasure,
Pearls from a necklace broken on stage,
I'd like to save them all.




































And a question for the angels: May earthly friends,
And a box of treasures such as this be taken
Into the next life?



















































Until I discover the answer to my question
You will have to excuse me for a while;
One of my amazing granddaughters
Is asking, Grandpa, can you come out and play?

That's my favorite question!















1965, Job #A32, BYU Hi, Group 7, Grade 11, B&W
by Larry Christensen, Class of 1966